


the house chants on without us

by crumbsfiction



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/F, cameo by sashannikasa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumbsfiction/pseuds/crumbsfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ymir runs a tattoo shop and Historia needs to start from scratch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the house chants on without us

It’s a slow morning.

The new shipments of plugs and tunnels have all been stacked into neat rows inside the glass cabinets on the far wall, the guns have been cleaned to sparkling perfection and the floor has been swiped at least twice.

Ymir is bored out of her mind. 

She’s flipped through the inspo magazine in her hands from cover to cover three times in the past hour. Shucking it down on the table, she pulls her lighter out from her back pocket and walks out the front door, letting the bell tingle as it shuts behind her. Smoking on the job is unprofessional, sure, but it’s her shop and she’ll smoke if she damn well wants to.

It’s early, that special kind of eerie greyness still settled over the small town she’s living in, traces of fog and dew hovering over the concrete. A shop wouldn’t normally open until ten, but Ymir has always been a morning person.

She’s four drags in, staring absentmindedly into space, when she hears the familiar noise of high heels on pavement, and turns her head towards the sound.

It’s a girl Ymir’s age (but about half her height), wearing a short, baby blue dress. Her blonde hair is up in pigtails, a large, pink backpack slung over her left shoulder.  Though not usually one to go for the cutesy girls, Ymir decides that this one, she could make an exception for.

Fully expecting her to walk right past the shop, Ymir gives her a once-over and a nod, a small smirk playing on her lips.

The girl nods back, smiling brightly, and the clicking of her heels stop about an arm’s length from Ymir.

 _She’s really short,_ Ymir thinks. God if that’s not adorable. Even in heels, the girl is still a head shorter than the brunette, and she notices just how huge those blue eyes are when she looks up at her, still smiling.

“Can I help you with anything?” Ymir drawls, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“You work here?” the girl asks and Ymir scoffs.

“Please. I own the place.”

The pink backpack hits the ground with a thud, and the girl kneels down to unzip the top. “I hope I’m not disturbing you on your break or anything,” she says, “but I think I need some advice on a design.”

Ymir cocks an eyebrow.

“You’re getting a tattoo?”

The girl pulls a folder out of her backpack and straightens up, pulling the bag back up on her shoulder.

“Why else would I go to a tattoo shop?” she says, hand on her hip. “And why do you sound so surprised?”

Ymir shrugs, feigning indifference. There are a lot of people others don’t expect to get tattoos that do. In her years she’s done ink on teachers and grandmothers and lawyers and everything in between. If a girl that looks like she walked straight out of a children’s cartoon wants some art on her body, who’s she to judge?

“Alright, whatever,” Ymir says, putting out her cigarette with her Dr Marten, “Let’s take this inside. It’s cold as fuck.”

The girl pushes the door open first and holds it up for Ymir, who stomps her shoes against the welcome mat.

The leather couch squeaks as she flops down on it, the girl sitting down next to her.

“So,” she says, “you’ve made a design yourself?”

“Oh,” the girl says, “I haven’t, no. This is just inspiration.”

The folder is pink and at least two inches thick, filled mostly with what Ymir assumes is pictures printed out from Pinterest. She sees flowers, quotes, birds, petals and everything in between as she flips through the pages, one eyebrow raised.

While she’s sorting through the pile of papers, the girl is busy looking around the shop. She stands up to wander around and look at the cabinets of piercings at one point, pokes at the magazines splayed out on the coffee table, looks over the sketches littering Ymir’s desk.

“See anything you like?” Ymir asks, and the girl almost yelps, putting down the sketchbook she was flipping through.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Ymir waves her hand in a ‘it’s fine’-gesture. “You’re really good,” the girl says.

“I know,” Ymir says. “Been practicing for a long long time.”

The girl hums, and Ymir decides that she’s tired of calling her ‘the girl’ in her head.

“What’s your name, darling?” she asks. Historia frowns and pulls at the hem of her dress.

“It’s Historia,” she says. “Don’t call me darling.”

Ymir cocks an eyebrow. “Alright,” she says. “Sorry about that. I’m Ymir,” she offers and Historia smiles a little.

“Nice name,” she says. “Unusual.”

“Have you heard your own?” Ymir grins and Historia rolls her eyes.

Ymir slams the folder down on the table and Historia stalks back to the couch, sitting down nest to Ymir. Almost thigh to thigh.

“Tell me,” Ymir says, “What exactly do you want here?”

Historia shuffles her feet against the carpet. “I just want something,” she says, “something that’s mine and no one else’s. Something that shows that I’m my own person.”

“A rebellious tattoo? That’s cool,” Ymir says with a whistle.

Historia perks up a little, looking up at Ymir with a smile. “You know what?” she says, “You do the design. I’ve seen your art on the Internet, and judging from your sketchbooks you really are as good as people say. Just take whatever you want from the folder and draw up something. I trust you.”

Ymir balks. “Hey, you gotta tell me where you want it at least. And you knew about my work already? You could have told me so!”

Shrugging, Historia stands back up. “I want it on my back,” she says. “Between the shoulder blades or just below my neck. Up to you, really.” Picking her backpack up and slinging it over her shoulder, she holds out her hand. “Thank you for helping me with this,” she says, and Ymir takes it, hesitatingly.

“I’m not helping you,” she says. “This is my job.”

Historia seemingly ignores her words and turns for the door. “Can I be back on Friday? Is that too soon?”

Ymir thinks it over. Today is Tuesday. Usually she’ll spend at least a week on a design to make sure its top notch, but…

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I won’t be able to ink you then, though. Might have the design done.”

“Great,” Historia smiles. “See you then, Ymir!”

The door swings shut with the tingle of the bell and Ymir drags a hand over her face, pushing her bangs behind her ears.

What a weirdo.

-

“Who’s the girl?” Sasha asks an hour after lunch, and Ymir scowls.

“What girl?”

Sasha sits down on the edge of Ymir’s desk and takes a large bite out of the apple in her hand. “You never start a design the same day it’s commissioned unless it’s for a hot chick, and we don’t have any designs like that in the works right now.”

Ymir rolls her eyes. “Well, congratulations, Sherlock-“ she starts, then stops. “Wait, you accusing me of bad work ethics?”

“I’m accusing you of bad everything ethics,” Sasha giggles and pats Ymir on the shoulder. “But tell me,” she says. “One to ten?”

Ymir decides to humour her, if just for today. “She’s not hot,” she says. “Adorable as fuck though. Like a little princess.”

Sasha grins through a mouthful of apple. Trying to tell her off about having food in a tattoo shop isn’t worth the effort anymore. “Well, you have been single for a while,” she says, and Ymir smacks her with a sketchbook.

“She’s twenty-two, at least. I’m not going for fucking jailbait.”

“Whatever you say,” Sasha says, hopping off the desk and making her way back to the cash register.

Ymir throws her pen after her retreating back, but hits the brick wall instead. “Fuck you,” she says. “Not all of us can two hot girlfriends at once.”

Sasha grins. “I knew you were jealous. Speaking of, Annie’s coming over later to look at new tunnels. Behave.”

“The one with the scarf?”

“No, that’s Mikasa. God, Ymir, you’ve met them a million times.”

“I don’t care about your stupid girlfriends,” Ymir says. “Leave me alone.”

Sasha does, thankfully, with a roll of her eyes.

For such a simple commission, the work is surprisingly hard. Ymir rips another page from her sketchbook and crumbles it up, shucking it into the trashcan. It bounces of the edge and falls to the floor, so Ymir leaves it there.

Her iPod dock is playing Passion Pit and she turns it up, humming along as she makes another sketch.

It ends up in the trashcan too.

Ymir sighs.

It’s not usually this hard.

The circle of unproductivity continues until 4 pm, when she’s scheduled for a piercing job. A dude wants an earl, so she rolls up her sleeves and handles the gun with steady hands, talking him through the entire process. It’s done in a flash and the guy doesn’t even flinch, so she considers it a job well done and calls it a day.

Wednesday is busier, three ink jobs and three piercings, so Sasha and Ymir split them equally. The girl she tattoos first is kind of an asshole, but Ymir dutifully reins her mouth in. _Paying customers are good customers_ , she tells herself and zips it as the girl goes off on another tangent about “real jobs” and “proper education”.

Sasha gives her a sympathetic look as she wipes down the counters and Ymir sticks her tongue out in her general direction.

There’s no time to work on her designs at all, so Ymir decides to go overtime.

“Unusual,” Sasha comments as she pulls her jacket on, picking up her purse from the floor under the cash register. A car honks outside, and Ymir cranes her neck to see the black haired girl in the front seat, signature red scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ymir sighs. “Have fun.”

Sasha grins. “See you tomorrow.”

Ymir makes herself a cup of coffee in the back room and brings it out to her desk, staring down at the inspiration folder.

A sigh.

She does have a reputation, she supposes, is known fairly widely at least within the circles of the body mod community. The praise started rolling in a few years ago, people flocking to see her watercolour work, the studio usually booked up several months ahead.

Ymir doesn’t really understand it. She’s practiced endless hours, sure, but mostly goes on feeling when she draws. If people like it, good for them, but she’s never done it for fame or recognition. She’s only been to a few expos, quickly finding the mass of people too overwhelming. She loves tattooing, loves the art of it, and she doesn’t do it for anyone else.

Finding herself unable to draw a simple bundle of flowers with this many certificates and diplomas hanging over her desk, however, is frustrating.

She gives up at eight PM, flicking the lights off with a frown and slamming the front door before locking it.

Stupid blondes with stupid requests.

Maybe she should just hand over the design to Sasha.

But the girl, Historia, had already known about Ymir and her work, so it was entirely possible that she wanted a tattoo specifically done by her.

Ymir scowls.

God damn it.

-

Thursday rolls in with a clap of thunder and a wall of heavy rain, and Ymir runs to the shop with her leather jacket held over her head for shelter.

Sasha is already there when she arrives, dripping wet, and she raises her hand in greeting.

“Ready to punch some holes in people?” she asks and Ymir nods as she dumps her jacket in the far corner of the shop, pulling her hair up into a ponytail.

The day passes in a blur of customers and rain, and before she knows it, it’s almost closing time.

“I’m staying today,” Ymir tells Sasha, who’s busy organizing the ink by colour. “Need to finish that stupid design by tomorrow.”

Sasha nods. “Good luck with that,” she says, and thirty minutes later, she’s out the door.

Ymir decides it’s time to focus.

She grabs the biggest cup from their kitchenette and fills it to the brim with coffee. Getting it out to her desk is a balancing act, but she manages to get it there without spilling it all on the floor or on her sketches. She plugs her iPod into the dock, cranks Studio Killers up until the coffee is vibrating inside the cup, twiddles her pencil between her fingers until she accidentally sends it flying across room.

She engrosses herself in the inspiration material, sorts it by colour, style and motive, pins it up on the corkboard on the wall. Doodles patterns, types out quotes, sketches falling flower petals in excruciating detail.

By ten, she has two designs done, but something about them still feels off.

Ymir plays with the thought of going outside for a cigarette to clear her mind, but decides that the weather isn’t worth it. She should be quitting, anyway. Sasha’s always on her back about it. 

She sighs, stretching her legs out in front of her until they hit the wall.

The designs that are done are both fairly simple and minimalistic, one a pattern of flowers and the other of birds. Historia has said that this was a rebellion, that it had to stand out, and neither of the pictures in front of her were particularity eye-catching. Pretty, sure, but not unique.

Maybe she was coming on to this all wrong.

She turns to a new page in her sketchbook and picks up her pencil.

-

There’s pain shooting up the length of Ymir’s back and turning her head in any direction is a joke.

“That’s what you get,” Sasha says, cracking open a can of coke.

Ymir flips her off. “No drinks in the shop,” she says instead, so Sasha gulps the whole thing down in one go.

“How did it turn out?” Sasha says, crushing the can between her hands and throwing it into the trash.

“How did what turn out?”

“The design, stupid. You didn’t sleep on the couch just because you felt like it, did you?”

“Maybe I did,” Ymir drawls. “You don’t know my life.”

Sasha just rolls her eyes, so Ymir picks up her sketchbook from the desk and brings it over to her colleague. Sasha takes it from her hands and Ymir watches in satisfaction as Sasha’s eyes go wide.

“Wow. That is. Holy shit.”

“Pretty good, yeah?”

“It’s amazing.”

Ymir smirks. “Let’s hope blondie feels the same way.” 

“Oh, she will,” Sasha says, still staring at the design.

Ymir keeps one eye on the door through until lunch, when she and Sasha order Chinese takeout and take turns eating it in the back room. Ymir is halfway through her noodles when Sasha calls her in from the shop and Ymir drops her food on the spot.

It’s Historia, of course, in jeans and a button-up, backpack still on her shoulders. She lights up instantly as Ymir makes her way over, smiling brightly at the brunette.

“Hi!” she says and Ymir pushes up her flannel sleeves to her elbows, a nervous habit she’s been trying the get rid of for years. Historia’s eyes flicker briefly down to the tattoos covering the olive skin of her forearms and Ymir feels a surge of pride at the appreciation in her gaze.

“Hey,” she says, holding her hand out and Historia takes it immediately in her own soft one.

“I have a design for you,” Ymir says and Historia smiles up at her excitedly.

“Really? I thought that maybe it was too fast,” she says and Ymir has to smile at the enthusiasm in her voice.

"Never doubt me,” she smirks and turns to her desk, picking her sketchbook up. They end up on the couch again, thigh to thigh and Ymir’s heart is beating a little harder than normal when she hands the drawing over.

Historia accepts it, looking down at the page.

Ymir waits.

“Uh,” Ymir says, “I can change it, of course-“

“No!”

Ymir coughs. “What?”

“No, no, don’t change it. It’s perfect,” Historia says, eyes wide, and Ymir exhales.

She’s mixed the patterns of flowers and birds into one, scattered it across the shoulder blades of the drawn model, mingling them together swivelling clean lines and an explosion of tiny stars. On the very edge of the design, a word is written in cursive, almost unnoticeable from a distance, but clear as day up close.

“It’s Latin for freedom,” Ymir tells Historia, pointing to the word.

Historia nods. “I know. I took Latin in high school.” She breathes. “It’s so beautiful.”

Ymir clears her throat awkwardly. “Glad you like it.”

“Can I have it done now?” Historia asks and Ymir cocks an eyebrow.

“Right now? Of course not,” she says. “I’m booked up until May.”

Historia’s face falls.

“Oh. Oh course, I didn’t think-“

The look on her face makes Ymir’s heart hurt. It’s like the blonde has been punched in the face and dropped her ice cream at the same time.

Fuck it.

“Sasha,” she calls, and the brunette pops up behind the counter. “Do we have any regulars scheduled next week?”

“Let me check,” Sasha says, flipping through their mutual calendar.

Historia watches her with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

Ymir doesn’t respond. 

“There’s Kirstein on Monday,” Sasha says finally, looking up from the table. “That’s about it. Why do you ask?”

“Fuck that guy. He’s a douche,” Ymir says. “Cross him out.”

“What?” Sasha and Historia balks at the same time.

“You heard me,” Ymir says, putting her hand on Historia’s shoulder. “We’re getting this lady some ink.”

The blush on Historia’s face and the thankfulness in her eyes makes it all worth it.

-

“How did you get into this stuff?” Historia asks her on Monday as Ymir is pulling on her gloves, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

“The tattoos?” she asks and Historia nods. “I always liked art, I guess. Though that this would be a good way to spend my time so I dropped out of law school and opened up this place. It took a lot of practice, but I guess it’s going pretty well now.”

“You went to law school?”

“For a while.” A beat. “What about you, princess? Why the sudden need for a tattoo?”

Historia looks down on the floor and for a second Ymir is scared she’s stepped out of line.

“Family drama,” she says finally. “I finally got away and I decided I just needed something to prove that I was finally free. Living life for myself, after all these years. It sounds selfish, but that’s what it is.”

Ymir nods. “I don’t understand your situation,” she says, because she doesn’t, “but I think it’s a good choice.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Ymir scuffs her boots against the floor. “You’re going to have to take your shirt off,” she says.

“Oh!” Historia says, flying out of her sitting position on the bench. “Of course,” she says, pulling her shirt over her head and sitting back down with the cloth in her lap.

Ymir swallows.

_Just another customer, you stupid lesbian. You’ve done this a million times._

Historia lies face down on the bench, arms folded under her head, and Ymir breaks out the disposable razors to get the tiny hairs off her skin.

They’re mostly quiet while Ymir works, speakers playing on the lowest volume. The stencil transfer goes smoothly and Ymir shows Historia to the mirror for a last check.

“Sure you’re not changing you mind?” she asks as Historia turns and cranes her neck to see better. The blonde smiles.

“I’m sure. No going back,” she says and Ymir feels strangely proud of her.

Preparing the ink and tools is a quick process, made effective by years of work, and Ymir takes a moment to breathe before she puts the needle to Historia’s light skin.

“This is going to hurt,” she warns. “I’ll try to make it as smooth as possible, but it’s literally needles jabbing into your skin. It’ll hurt like hell.” She’s never been one to sugar-coat.

“I know,” Historia says, voice muffled into her arms. “It’s okay.”

Ymir exhales and starts up the gun, familiar whirring filling the air. 

The needle hits skin and Historia doesn’t make a sound.

The line work is done within the hour, and Historia hasn’t as much as squeaked. The trend continues as Ymir changes her needles for magnums and starts on the colouring.

“You’re doing good,” she says as she shades the petals with dark pink and she swears she can hear Historia giggle.

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” she says and Ymir thinks briefly back on her first tattoo, and how much she screamed while getting it.

“Nah,” she says. “Not that bad.”

It takes two hours in total, then Historia is back to turning and spinning in front of the mirror.

“Is it how you wanted?” Ymir asks and she swears that Historia’s smile could light up the whole room.

“It’s perfect.”

She goes back to admiring her upper back and Ymir has to smile. It turned out exactly how she wanted it to, including the Latin word written neatly in white ink.

Sasha appears from the back room, cinnamon roll stuffed into her mouth. She almost drops it at the sight and Ymir pushes at her shoulder with a smirk.

“Gorgeous,” she says, eyes wide. 

“What is?” Ymir teases and Sasha blows her a raspberry.

“Alright, princess,” Ymir says, clapping her hands twice. “Time to wrap this baby up.”

Historia heads back to the bench and lays back down with Ymir adding ointment, bandages and tape, along with instructions for how to take care of it.

“Thank you,” Historia breathes as she heads for the door. “Really, thanks. It’s everything I wanted and more.”

Ymir pushes down the feelings of pride surging in her chest and gives the blonde a quick salute.

“Any day,” she says, and Historia waves happily as she practically skips out the door.

Sasha appears behind her. _She loves you, yeah yeah yeah_ , she sings, completely off key, and Ymir chucks a magazine at her head. It flops uselessly to the floor and Sasha grins.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That stupid face of yours. I don’t even have her number.”

Sasha’s face falls.

“Oh. I was so sure there were sparks flying here. Maybe my lesbian radar is off.”

“Go choke on a can of soup, asshole.”

Ymir turns back to cleaning the guns and ignores the looming feeling of disappointment.

-

She decides to forget about it and move the fuck on. It’s what she does best.

Customers are rolling in like never before, including Kirstein, who’s more than a little upset about his booking being cancelled. Ymir doesn’t give two shits.

There are ink jobs and piercing jobs every day from morning until night, and when she’s not working in the shop, Ymir is pumping out new designs and commissions. She loves having a lot to do, but this is bordering on too much.

Sasha spills her coffee on the floor one Wednesday afternoon and Ymir snaps at her, _how many fucking times did I tell you about drinks in the god damn shop_ , and she’s lucky Sasha knows how to handle her moods.

“What about that girl?” she asks when they’re closing up for the day. “Maybe she can take your mind off work for a while.”

Ymir snorts. “I don’t have time to go hunting for cute blondes,” she says. “I have a business to run.”

She doesn’t see Sasha’s smirk as she turns away to put away the tubes of ink.

-

Ymir is halfway through her cold pizza when Sasha slams the door to the back room open.

“What the hell,” Ymir says and Sasha grins.

“You’re coming with me,” she says, and grabs Ymir’s arm, pulling her out of her seat. 

“What the hell?”

She’s pulled along to the shop with Sasha’s hands like a steel claw around her wrist. At first she doesn’t notice anything different.

“Why are you dragging me here? I’m not finished with my pizza, damn it-“

Sasha covers Ymir’s mouth with her hand, efficiently shutting her up. “You might not have time to go hunting for cute blondes, “she says, “but I do.”

Sure enough, Historia is sitting on the couch in the far corner of the room, legs tucked in under her. She waves at Ymir, smiling brightly, and Ymir gives a half-wave back.

“She left all her info here before getting the tattoo, stupid,” Sasha says, releasing both Ymir’s wrist and face at once.

Ymir gives her a wide-eyed look, promptly earning her a forceful push in the back. “What are you standing here for?”

Pushing her sleeves up to her elbows, Ymir makes her way over to the leather couch.

“Hey,” she says. “What can I do for you today?”

Historia gives her a wide smile.

“What do you think about septum piercings?”

**Author's Note:**

> this has probably been done a million times??? but hey
> 
> title from beautiful generator ^ first floor by freelance whales


End file.
